// fOURTEEN.//
In the backyard he spills his seed thru the cloudburst, and when it is not raining he does so in the shower. I get a load of it, visually. I can see him working it out his window and through mine. I am cocksure he knows I am watching, but he will not look at me… Fuck, he explicitly knows what he is doing and I am thirsty. Oh Burly Bush Daddy won’t you look at me?
Mornings, always, I blast upstairs and taped, I gape from stem to stern. Still there is the oleo but the show will soon show, I know. Than Burly Bush Daddy clears the oleo, and what is seen behind eye-lids is of great yen. Standing in blue jeans, with intent looking away from me, he unbottons the button than unzips the zipper and lift-up. His prick 9 inches thick
so as to divulge . His sex organs.
I imagine about a twosome promise being kept.
I imagine that you have made a promise with me. has made a promise to open the oleo each morning; bringing us together. My only hope in the world is for him to look at me.
“Don’t dare delve into your own imagination and reconsider your agreement with reality.” It’s cyclic. I cannot stop myself from externalizing a bigger picture than the one we live in. Mother tells me these are typical teen ponderations. I am afraid of what a strong part of me believes. Parent’s hold the reigns, parent’s hold the reigns.
Entry 2: A boy cat whom I love and loathe is my best friend. Because of his bulbous shape, I decided to name him dumpling. He has such a tiny prick. You wouldn’t even notice it if you weren’t feeling for it; it is all covered up by a cat’s version of foreskin. I wash it with my tongue so that it comes out, but I am not going to do that right now because I am terribly angry with him. He has shit and pissed all over my room earlier than expected and cleaning day isn’t but a week away. He knows this and is dormant so I wait. And I wait. And I wait. I have a belt in my strong hand, my fathers hand, and kickers on my feet to teach. I wait for him with wolfish anger, than imagine him dead and start to cry. “Don’t dare delve into your own imagination.” I feel scared now. I don’t want to be alone. Seriously dumpling is my best friend.
Entry 2: Pin your ears back. One day a week I go for a long walk through this forest nearby. It is absolutely beautiful, even better than my home. My classic light of day goes like this: I wake up at 8:00AM or perhaps after thatAM and remain in my bed. In semi-toto I bear hug my quiet mind. This is the only time I am with a mind so calm and tolerant. I feel comfortably numb. Latterly, I elongate my muscles or I will hurt myself hands down. I have a brittle bag of bones. My mother tells me it is a condition I cannot help. Some days it is most painful so I have to take pain killers.
Last Entry: In the backyard he spills his seed out in the cloudburst, and when it is not raining he does so in the shower. I get a load of it visually. I can see him working it out his window and through mine. I am cocksure he knows I am watching, but he doesn’t look at me… Fuck, he explicitly knows what he is doing. He has made a promise, swearing to open the oleo each morning he is alone; bringing us together. My only hope in the world is for him to look at me.
Entry 1: Hello. My name is fourteen and I don’t know who the fuck you are, but as I always do, I’ll assume you are no different from the rest of them. I do have questions though, lot’s of them: Where are you reading this from? I understand there are mulitiple rooms in each home, all but two of them are solely for parents usages. Are you in the bathroom or your bedroom, or are you somewhere else? Oh no, if my mother were to read this… “Don’t dare delve into your own imagination and reconsider your agreement with reality.” It’s cyclic. I can’t stop myself from externalizing a bigger picture than the one we live in. Mother tell me this is a typical teen ponderations. Parent’s hold the reigns, parent’s hold the reigns.
A boy cat whom I love and loathe is my best friend. Because of his bulbous shape, I decided to name him dumpling. He has such a tiny prick. You wouldn’t even notice it if you weren’t feeling for it; it is all covered up by a cat’s version of foreskin. I wash it with my tongue so that it comes out, but I am not going to do that right now. I am terribly angry with him. He has shit and pissed all over my room earlier than expected and cleaning day isn’t for another week. He knows this and is dormant so I wait. I have a belt in my strong hand, my fathers hand, and kickers on my feet to teach. I wait for him with wolfish anger, than imagine him dead and start to cry. “Don’t dare delve into your own imagination.” I feel scared now. I don’t want to be alone. Seriously dumpling is my best friend.
Entry 2: Pin your ears back. My classical light of day goes like this: I wake up at 8:00AM or perhaps after thatAM and remain in my bed. In semi-toto I bear hug my quiet mind. This is the only time I am with a mind so calm. I feel comfortably numb. Latterly, I have to elongate my muscles or I will hurt myself hands down. I have a brittle bag of bones.
